Monster
by Siha
Summary: Justice is obsessed with Hawke but she want's nothing to do with him, or at least that's what she tells him. What happens when Anders can't control the spirit who will stop at nothing to make Hawke his? Rated M for later content. AndersxJusticexHawke
1. Obsessed

**A/N: So this story came to me after I thought about what would happen if Ander's was madly obsessed with Hawke (More like Vengeance obsessed with Hakwe) and she had denied him. How would he take it? What would he do? I plan on making this short, part one and part two. Anyways, here is a little gift for my hiatus. Love you guys and I hope you enjoy this possessive dominant side of Anders as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own bioware/EA or any of it's characters. Unfortunately.**

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><p>Hawke felt inexplicably lonely as she climbed back into her bed. Her fingers plucked at the quilt, seeking comfort. The book lay on the bed beside her. She tapped on the cover with her fingers before waving it back to the shelf. Telekinesis was a very handy talent. She had discovered it at an early age. She had often set her toys dancing around her room when she was alone. Once, she had shown her mother, proud of her ability. Her mother had seemed delighted, yet Hawke could read the worry in her mind. She learned at a young age she was "different" and people didn't tolerate differences very well. She stared at the open window sadly. I am so alone. She sent the heartfelt cry winging into the night.<p>

She had other things she could do. Not nice things. Things her mother cautioned her over many times. Hawke was older now and knew control was very necessary. She never had taken a drink of alcohol in her life and never would. She couldn't afford to allow some of her unusual gifts to erupt unbidden.

She sighed and turned her face into the pillow. It would have been nice to have someone to talk with. To be herself with. Just once. Just one time, to be who and what she was, instead of so afraid of betraying herself. She missed her mother. Tears were welling up out of nowhere and Hawke hated that.

_Hawke, why are you so sad this night? _The voice was heavily accented, musical, a whisper of enticement. She heard it as clearly as if the words were spoken aloud.

Hawke stiffened, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She opened her eyes, searching the shadows of her room. It appeared empty at first, but then she felt a hand brush a lingering caress over her face, the fingertips trailing over her skin as it removed silken strands of hair from her forehead. She sat up, pushing at the shadowy figure bending over her. The broad chest was real and very solid. How could she have missed his presence?

"What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?" She hissed the words very quietly,

_You called me to you_. Deliberately Anders used the more intimate method of telepathic communication, determined to strengthen their bond._ I heard your call. Felt your tears. Why are you so sad this night?_

He was too real and solid in the confines of her small bedroom. His masculine scent clung to the corners, his voice brushed over her skin, at her insides like black velvet. It wasn't just his words, it was literally the sound of his voice. A seduction, an intimacy stolen in the night. He washed over her and into her so that she was at a loss. No one had ever made her feel so aware of her body, so feminine, or so blatantly sexual.

She blinked to keep him in focus. He seemed substantial to the touch, yet in the dark room, his shadowy figure blurred as if he was a part of the night itself. Not real. Hawke had the good sense to be afraid. It was so dreamlike she dug her nails into her palm to ensure she was awake. "How did you get in here?" The moment she spoke aloud, she wished she hadn't. Her voice was husky, sexy, not entirely hers. An invitation. Her heart thundered out a fast rhythm. The heat of his body crowding so close to hers warmed her skin despite the coolness of the wind. She should have been furious, instead, she was mesmerized by him, by his overpowering sexuality.

His hand curled around the nape of her neck. Possessively. As if he had the right to her. Her body went pliant, soft in reaction. In her entire life, she had never responded so sexually to anyone. She ached for him until it seemed to be a craving she couldn't control. Hawke sat there helplessly, trapped in the depths of his black eyes. She was falling forward, his captive, forever his prisoner. In that moment she was willing to be his prisoner. His dark head bent very slowly, relentlessly to hers. She could see the impossible length of his lashes, his sinfully sexy lips, the bluish shadow on his jaw. Her body was heavy and aching and demanding things she knew very little about. He was so out of her league. A man like Anders would consume her, use her up, make her his so completely there could never he another. She should have screamed.

Instead she closed her eyes and allowed his mouth to take possession of hers. Beneath her the bed lurched and rocked as if the ground beneath it had moved. She was swept onto a tidal wave of pure feeling, into a sensual world beyond her comprehension. Her body no longer belonged to her, but to him. Colors whirled and danced and the room spun. And she was alive. It wasn't simply her body burning for his, but her mind, craving, reaching out for his, her soul crying out to his. She felt a curious shifting deep inside, a merging, two ragged halves sealing perfectly. She felt his arms tighten like two steel bands, a wildness growing in him. She realized he was not only gaining possession of her, but control as well. She was losing herself, wanting to merge deeply with him, wanting to be whatever he needed, do whatever he wanted.

Anders lost himself in her sweetness. She was heat and honey, melting into him, twining around his heart until he knew he would never be complete without her. His mouth moved to the corner of hers, along her chin to her vulnerable throat. She was aching for him, burning as he was. Her pulse beckoned to him. She thought him an erotic dream and he fed the haze in her mind, fed the illusion of a dream to her, even while his body pulsed with need and excitement. He allowed his hunger to deepen as he forced her body back against the mattress. She struggled for just a moment, a thought of resistance. He took it ruthlessly from her mind, kissing her until she was pliant. His mouth was merciless on hers, demanding kisses, taking her response rather than asking for it. He stretched her arms above her head and pinned her wrists together to hold her captive beneath him.

Hawke possessed a mind with a complex guard, one he needed to bridge in order to claim her for his own. He had succeeded in being voluntarily invited into her home. He had succeeded in finding the path to her mind. Now he was going to take what he needed to unlock the door keeping her from him. Nothing would stop him. Not her sister sleeping so restlessly in the next room. Not even Hawke herself, half shaken by her unfamiliar needs and desires.

Hawke was wrapped in his body so tightly she was unsure where she left off and he started. His mouth burned a trail of fire along her throat to her neck. She felt the nip of his strong teeth, the swirling caress of his tongue. A rush of liquid heat beckoned him and she was helpless to stop it. She turned her head, wanting his mouth, wanting him to kiss her again, but he held her easily, his black eyes drifting possessively over her face. The dark needs there made her shiver. There was such a sexual hunger, a merciless passion in his heavy-lidded eyes. Heart thudding wildly, she thought to fight him. Before she could move, he bent his head with deliberate slowness to her slender neck again. At once she felt a fiery pain, a white-hot blaze streaking through her bloodstream so that she moaned, so that her body rippled with pleasure, with a need so intense she wanted to cry.

Anders tightened his hold on her, locking her to him while he took the essence of her life into him for all time, for his keeping. He wanted her, wanted to take her body, possess her fully. It wasn't simply wanting. He needed. It was an urgent demand as elemental as the earth and sky. He needed her. His hand slid under the thin material of her top to cup the weight of her breast in his palm. Her essence flowed into him like nectar and he allowed himself to indulge in her exquisite beauty, the taste and scent of her. The feel of her soft skin next to his.

His body hardened with a savage, unfamiliar need. At once his sexual appetite grew, erotic desires pouring into his mind, into his cells, flooding him with images of taking her in every way possible, of having her whenever, wherever he wanted. He had never thought about the things he would need or want from a woman, but she roused dark passions and an edgy hunger in him.

Anders had never needed anything or anyone in his life. He had dedicated his life to guarding mortals from themselves. He had the memories of his companions. He had vague memories of his home. He had his honor. His dignity . He existed. But he was unlocking Hawke's mind and it astonished him.

Shocked him. She was all about love and compassion. Her thoughts were mainly of others, her need to serve and help them. Where he wanted his own way in all things, where he believed others inferior to him, she was light and goodness. She made him ashamed of his nature.

Hawke was no longer certain she was dreaming. She could never have conjured up a fantasy as erotic as Anders. He was holding her submissive, a dominant sexual being that was both rough and tender. He demanded her response, look her response, rather than coaxed it. And she seemed helpless to stop the tidal wave of passion he unleashed in her.

She began to struggle, afraid of losing who and what she as. He seemed to be slipping into her mind and wrapping himself deep inside her so that she was afraid she would never again be free. He was enormously strong and the more her body moved against his, the more viselike his grip became. He didn't hurt her, but he refused to allow her to get away. She tried surfacing from the dream, afraid of the way her body responded to his, even when he was being roughly dominant, but she couldn't manage to wake and save herself. And a part of her knew she would be saving herself.

Anders lifted his head slowly, his black eyes burning with fierce possession. He bent his head to catch the twin beads of sweat running toward the slope of her breast. His tongue swirled over the mark he had deliberately left. A brand. His brand of ownership. His arms held her easily, his strength enormous. She was very small, and surprisingly strong for her size, yet her struggles were nothing to him. Sheer nonsense, barely registering.

He caught her chin firmly and forced her deep green eyes meet his. Even as he did so, his mind tuned itself to the path of hers, thrusting sharp and deep, taking command. _You will take what I offer_. He gave the order as he used a fingernail to open his own chest. Pressing her mouth to the strange liquid that would bind them together, Anders ruthlessly forced her to swallow. He closed his eyes as her mouth moved against him, her body so like hot satin he could scarcely contain himself. A groan escaped, and his hands moved over her skin exploring the soft creamy curves.

So lost in his own needs and desires, Anders almost missed the movement of Hawke's sister in the room across the hall. Nightmares were intruding, and she was thrashing on her bed, tears running down her face. His body was so hard and taut with desperate need he almost didn't hear the intrusion.

Shockingly, Hawke stirred, right through the dark haze of her strange, terrifying dream. She began to fight the fog, sensing Bethany's troubled sleep. Anders cursed eloquently under his breath as he closed the wound on his chest. Gently, almost tenderly he laid Hawke back on the pillows. She was very pale, her black hair spilling around her like a fiery halo. Unable to stop himself, he bent his dark head to the swell of her creamy, round breast. Her heart thundered beneath his roving mouth as he wantonly marked her a second time. He had never ached so much, needed so much in all of his existence.

With a sigh of regret, he melted into the shadows, waving his hand to quiet the child's dreams and send Hawke into a deeper sleep. Bending, he brushed a kiss on her forehead even as he stroked a caress over his mark on her neck and the second one on the swell of her breast with a fingertip in great satisfaction. Without another sound he climbed back through her open window and looked back at the estate over her shoulder as he returned to Dark Town.


	2. Giving In

**A/N: So I am sorry for being on Hiatus. I recently started college this fall as well as work and the two mixed together have kept me from updating. Anyways, here is part 2 for my "Justice/Anders/Hawke" fic, I've decided on 3 parts instead of 2. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own bioware/EA or any of it's characters. Unfortunately.**

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><p>Hawke glared down the man she had been arguing with for hours now. She had come to Ander's clinic after he begged her non-stop to come and talk to him and so she had agreed to visit him when he shut the clinic down for the night and everyone had left. But she was starting to regret the decision and the headache that came with it. The last person she wanted to see was Anders. He had tormented her in her dreams for almost a year now. Not in a bad way but instead indulged her in every sexual fantasy she ever had. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, what went on in her mind while she slept was her own dirty little secret anyway but she wondered why once, just once Fenris wouldn't interrupt this charade that had been going on in her dreams and take her instead. She smacked her forehead with her hand shaking her head at the thought. It would be a welcome relief to the way Ander's made her feel so alive. But now he was insisting that she needed to take a side. The mages or the Templars. Hawke just wanted to stay the fuck out of it.<p>

"Your sister is a mage, does that mean nothing to you?" Anders asked.

"Of course it does, I love Bethany but she's a Grey Warden and gone and I'm not getting involved in any more of this bullshit." Hawke said stamping her foot upon the ground.

"One can hope I suppose." He said very simply. "I am curious about this woman I find myself involved with."

"Involved?" she barked a short, disbelieving laugh. "We are not, nor will we ever be, _involved_. What goes on in my life is my business, not yours or anyone else's. After I walk out of this clinic I will be doing my level best to never to set eyes on you again."

"I am afraid that will be impossible."

His tone was more matter-of-fact than it was ominous, but for some reason, it was far more threatening to her because of it. He seemed so sure. Confident, yes, but not with the arrogance she'd attributed to him earlier. Hawke realized then that she'd been mistaken in that assessment. Arrogance implied a certain level of callousness and selfishness. What she suddenly was feeling from him had nothing to do with those traits. She should have met the comment with outrage at its audacity, but she was unexpectedly overwhelmed with a sensation of fear unlike anything she was accustomed to feeling. Her heart pounded relentlessly, the speed of it ten times what it had been as she'd watch Bartrand seal them in the Deep Roads. Being shot by a lightning bolt was far less unnerving than this man suddenly seemed. At least she knew what a person swinging a sword at her was after.

"You have…" She uncharacteristically struggled for words as his eyes never left hers, becoming more amber every instant as she watched. "You're nothing to me," she whispered, grinding her teeth together when the lack of conviction came through in the softness of her voice.

"I am everything to you," he said in return, his voice just as soft but in no way deficient in conviction.

He took just one more step closer to her, the slight squeak of the leather of his boot sounding terribly loud, somehow drowning the noise of her own body as her heart pounded and her breath came quick and chaotic. Anders reached up, and the sight of his fingers unfurling, displaying his fingertips and broad palm as they reached for her, made her react. Her entire body pivoted into the slap she used to strike him away from whatever part of her was his goal. With uncanny instincts, her opposite hand darted up to catch his other wrist as it moved, quick as flickering flame, to replace the one she'd already discouraged. Hawke felt just as surprised as he looked, if she could call the intrigued lift of his brow an expression of his surprise. She was fast, she knew, but it usually took the register of a telltale movement or something like it to justify any action. The point was, she normally wasn't fast enough to do what she'd just done. She was realistic about her own limitations, and with all of her body committed to the original strike…

"Full of surprises, hmm?"

Hawke gasped. It was as if he were reading her mind.

She released him roughly. She backed away, wanting to turn and run, only her pride keeping her from doing so.

"I don't what you want, or how it is you've done the things you've done," she

hissed angrily, "but you will never come near me again. Do you understand me?"

"Every word," he agreed.

Lies. It was lies. She could see it in the predatory look in his eyes, felt it with every fiber of her being as he stepped toward her again and again. She was being hunted. Stalked. Hawke didn't know why he threatened her so easily, but she met the perceived threat the only way she knew how. Anders stopped mid-step when, preceded by movement that was almost too fast for even his preternatural senses to comprehend, he heard the distinct sound of a dagger being unsheathed from it's hiding spot and found himself targeted right between his eyes.

"I swear to God I will," she ground out hoarsely. "Don't make me kill the man who saved my sister. I hate feeling guilty about things like that."

The remark was almost glib, and it amused Anders. She had no idea that the little dagger was more of a threat to her than it was to him, even under the best of circumstances. It didn't change the captivating question of exactly how she had concealed the weapon while wearing so brief and tight an outfit.

Anders knew he wasn't reacting to her pulling a dagger on him the way she would expect a human to react. The increasing tremble of her outstretched arm and tightly clenched hand were clear giveaways to that fact. Still, she had to find out sometime that he was no ordinary human, and there was no patience left within him to wait for her to get to know him a little better. This time it was Anders who moved faster than perception, his left hand grabbing her wrist and removing the danger of the weapon from them both. His right arm snaked around her waist quick as lightning, jerking her up off her heels and forward into the bend of his body. She was so long and lean, so humanly hot to the touch even through her clothes as he clasped her to himself. It was like fitting a lock with its only key. She slid into him hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and breast to breast, as if they'd been born that way and sliced apart at birth. Now, finally, they were completed once more. Anders made a low, rough sound of satisfaction that rang out like the sigh released when agony was comforted at last. Hawke was shaking head to toe with rage and apprehension and who knew what else, but none of it mattered to him. All that mattered was that he was touching her, that he was close enough to truly take in that unusual scent of sweet sugar that radiated off her in warm, delicious waves. He barely knew what he

was doing as his nose drifted over her cheek, her hair, her neck. He'd waited a year to be this close to her, and would spend all of the rest of it bringing her closer still. When his lips touched her throat ever so slightly, the end to the strangest act of aggression she'd ever been victim of, Hawke's entire network of muscles constricted in sharp spasm. Still, she barely heard the report of the small dagger as it clattered to the floor, though she was sure she didn't release it. It was as if it passed right through her hand and fingers, as if they were no more than air. She didn't give it another thought. She was far too shocked by the response flooding through her entire body as his lips traced up the artery along the side of her neck. Flooding was the only word for it, because it was as if all of her blood had burst the confines of its vessels, like a heated waterfall beneath her skin, crashing to a halt in…in places she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge. She should have been screaming in protest, fighting tooth and nail for her freedom…at the very least kicking the crap out of him.

But she couldn't.

She was paralyzed. Paralyzed with feeling and a rush of thoughts she should never have had. All this because he'd touched his lips to the side of her neck. But in spite of this paralysis she tried to blame for her inaction, her head tilted slightly, as if to give him better access, her hand fitting against the muscles stretched across his lower ribs.

She realized what she was doing, understanding that though everything was new, it had an experienced habitualness to 's those damned dreams. As if they'd been real, as if they were lovers a hundred times over, she responded when he abused his knowledge of her body's sensitivities and preferences. Hawke jerked back violently, trying to escape his well-sprung trap. She was successful for all of a single breath, and then he was following her and close to her again. Again flush against her, he stepped with her as she backed across the room, his body strong and heated against hers every single millimeter she moved, like a skilled partner in a perfect tango. She had no space to breathe, everything about his movement so much more deadly and erotic than resting still against him had been.

"Stop," she begged him just before she backed into a solid barrier. She sounded breathless and aroused even to her own ears, and her face burned with a combination of fury and mortification. "Let go of me." Of course Anders couldn't oblige her. He had waited far too long to hold her like this in the waking world, and he was too heavily swayed by emotions and needs far out of her scope of understanding. He could feel Justice burning like a fire in his veins that spread along his back, alternately chilling him and filling him with a hunger that was almost as frightening to him as it was to her. It was to the point where he could no longer tell which one of them was shaking hardest.

"Not yet," he objected on rapid, heated breaths. "Not yet."

Hawke jerked her head back purely out of self-preservation when he feinted for her mouth. All she earned for her effort was a hand at the back of her neck that held her perfectly still. She felt the bite of potential tears in her eyes as alarm and bewilderment warred within her. She cried out, a frustrated growl that grew into an outcry. She struggled even harder, but it was like being a fly stuck in glue, and she made no headway and no impression on him at all. Worse yet, she affected the reactions of her own rousing body even less. Finally, Anders was able to touch his mouth to hers.

Her resistance and reluctance were nothing new to him. In all those months of interaction, it had become like a form of foreplay for them. He knew she could accept what she was feeling only after she convinced herself that she had done her best to fight him off. The moment his lips touched hers, the soft sound she made gave away her true desires, at least those of the body she had tried so hard to keep away from him. It was enough. Hopefully her mind would follow later. There was no time for tenderness between them. There never had been. They had always switched gears hard, and this moment was no different. He had barely had a sip of her lips when her mouth parted beneath his, demanding a speed and aggression that was painfully easy for him to fall into. As soft and beautiful as she was, there was always hardness and forcefulness beneath her more delicate exteriors. On some level he understood that it was because she couldn't bear to give him the vulnerability she associated with those things she hid within herself. All of those finite details meant nothing just then. He let her draw him into her game just as he let her draw him into her mouth. He kissed her, tasting deeply of her antagonistic tongue, the warmth and wetness of her mouth as much like refined sugar as the rest of her radiated in sweet, fragrant waves. She was breathing as hard as he was, the rasping rhythms all either of them could hear over their crashing heartbeats.


	3. Raw Need

One minute it mattered who and what they were; the next it didn't. The next instant was about nothing but chemistry, wanting, and gripping, starving needs that had yearned for this connection for far too long. The moment where Destiny demanded obedience.

Hawke's fingers slid into the crisp, curling hair at Ander's collar. She couldn't help herself. She had dreamed of him as often as he had dreamed of her. Whether she would admit to her needs or not, she craved the reality of him. The feel of his thick hair curling between and around her fingers was rich realism. Her opposite hand skimmed fast and hot over his clothing in search of far more carnal sensations. Hawke shaped him with her fingers and palm, down his chest, over his ribs, and around to his back, a thorough exploration of the musculature of his flank. Anders responded, his broad hands just as alive and active over her long, sensual shape and fit contours. Her body was truly athletic, firm beneath the stroke of his searching palms, but it was easy enough to find the soft, feminine curves that were generous and delightful. His huge palms cupped her hips and bottom, stroking and drawing her into his body, making sure she felt their tight fit. He traveled upward, curving into her waist.

Ander's hands slid up her sides beneath her arms, only his thumbs breaching the curve of her rib cage, sliding up toward her breasts. Hawke was braced between his body and an equally solid wall. She lifted one foot from the floor, her knee drawing slowly up the outside of those soft breeches he wore. The fabric of his clothing was the only thing besides his hair that was soft. The rest of him was like granite baked in the sun, immovably hard and incredibly hot. The moment they had entered the same room it was flint and steel, with the touching of their bodies becoming the major spark. Once he'd cornered her and kissed her, that was what had truly set her to burn. A single kiss. Just as he was kissing her now, hot and skillful, his tongue catching hers again and again until she burned from head to toe just from the fire of his mouth. She'd needed this for so long. This wildness and heat and danger. A career of death-defying escapades, not to mention thrill-seeking hobbies that most men would shy from, and none of it had shaken her, stirred her, or brought her to understand the truth of danger. Now it was here, all around her, invading every pore and flushing her with adrenaline as it pumped into all corners of her bloodstream. She knew that this was danger in its rawest form, this man and all the places within her he had the potential to reach. She had known it from the very first time she had fallen asleep and then fallen into the dream of his determined hands. Hands that were now sliding up her body with ferocious intent. She felt the stroke of his thumbs on the undersides of her breasts with astonishing sensitivity. He broke away from her mouth, using his hold beneath her arms to jerk her farther up between his body and the wall. Instantly his lips were burning trails of flame down her throat. Whirlwind emotions welled up in her. She didn't know how she had borne life without the heat of his mouth, hands, and body pressing against hers. The thought was surprisingly dependent for the fiercely independent nature of her soul. Anders had learned her in dreams, studied her like he would any of his treasured tomes. But this was like a brand-new language. Soft beneath his hands, warm against his body, delicious against his tongue. She even tasted like candy, sweetly melting beneath his mouth as he stroked his tongue over the rise of her breast where it was exposed by her neckline.

Clothing suddenly seemed wasteful and clumsily hampering.

Hawke abruptly came alive, catching his dark head in her hands and dragging him up to her so she could devour his mouth. She needed that rich, masculine taste against her lips and tongue. She was starving for the reality of it. Even as she entrapped him with her kiss, she began pulling at his clothes. Anders reached out to catch on to something far steadier than himself, his fingers coming to curl around the corner of the stone wall. She managed to free one of the tails of his shirt from the waistband of his pants and her eagerly searching hand found his naked skin beneath it. He broke from her mouth and gasped, unable to help himself. Nothing could burn him, and yet her touch was like fire exploding over the entire surface of his skin, and this time he felt the singe of it soul deep. Anders was truly hot to her touch. It was hardly a metaphor to say he scorched her palms as her left hand joined the right in her foray beneath his shirt. Instinct ought to have made Hawke pull away, jerking back just as she would if she had touched a hot stove. Mere instinct, however, didn't stand a chance in the face of the pull as base as evolution that now gripped them both.

"Years…" he muttered against her ear, following it with a soulful groan as her strong fingers glided up his back beneath his shirt, over his shoulders, and back down again. Years. Hawke knew what he meant. There was a world of torture and agonizing frustration in that one word, a world she was all too familiar with. Like long-distance lovers reunited after too long a separation, each pushed past any and all simplistic needs. There would be time for all of that later, perhaps.

Niceties were not what either of them needed or wanted.

Ander's hand pushed at the hem of her shirt and pulled down on her pants practically tearing them from her body. They alternately kissed and then drew for breath. Anders found the thin holster to her weapon strapped around her thigh and he yanked it from between her legs, the tearing of the Velcro fasteners sounding just as satisfying as the holster leather did when it hit the floor.

Anders heard her laugh briefly at his actions, the humor bracketed by murmurs of distracted pleasure and encouragement. Still it made an impact on him, skipping down every major artery in his body, flooding him with renewed fervor and need, though the initial emotions had never flagged.

"Don't stop," he heard her demand of him. Using the wall at her back for leverage, Hawke made sure he felt every inch of her burning body, broadcasting its message of hunger. The effect was like a heart attack, tossing the beat out of syncopation and stealing his breath away. It threw him off stride enough to allow her to flip their positions against the wall. Stone bit into his bare back, making him realize she had freed him of his shirt entirely. He did not give it another thought, though, as she ran her hands down the front of his body, seeking out the details of his body's landscaping with bold, efficient fingers. Anders ground his back teeth together as she tested his patience and his sanity. She wasn't shy or hesitant, exactly as he would have expected, instead sliding down the entire length of his body as she investigated him strictly for the sake of arousing him. Her hands went first, her mouth following in a wicked little trail of expectant fire. Need clutched at him, ferocious and violent in its anticipation. Her hands bracketed his waist so she could lick and nip her way down his belly. It was quick and thorough, meant to tease and succeeding famously. His hands locked into the black silk of her hair, the strands caught into his fists. He closed his eyes because it was unbearable to watch her. He couldn't keep his sanity if he watched her. Hawke's hands slid down to his hips and without hesitation sought the feel of his straining erection through the fabric of his breeches. The sensation of her sure, strong hands went surging through him with volcanic force as she took in his form and heat, molded her fingers to the thickened hardness of him. She kept her curious, stroking hands against him but she came back up to her full height. She reached for his mouth, licking at his lower lip with a slow sensual stroke to get him to open his eyes. She made a deep, appreciative sound as she noted the hunger he couldn't keep at bay within his gaze.

"You feel so good," she whispered against his mouth, making him groan in response to her observations and touch. Hawke could feel the fine trembling that shuddered through his body. She liked having the power to do that to him. She had always liked it.

She pushed just a little further. Waiting. Wanting.

Hawke slid her fingers over the closures of his fly, releasing him from the strangling confinement of the fabrics. She closed her fingers and her palm around him. He was scorching hot, incredibly hard, and she could feel his pulse surging thickly through him. She went one step further, stroking a sly thumb over the very sensitive tip of him.

Danger.

She felt it explode out of him like nuclear fire. She gasped when he locked his fingers around her wrists, removing her taunting hands, and then reached for her. Both his hands were suddenly gripping her with bruising strength as she was hauled up off her feet. Her limber gymnast's body seemed to fly with the ease it took to bring them together, sex to sex, a burning massage of two pelvises communicating the intent of the same promise in need of fulfilling. Hawke's hand flew out, bracing against the wall near his head as she threw back her head in a silent cry of overheated anticipation. He had hold of her hips even as the vise of her legs wrapped around him. He made damn sure she could feel the heat and raging hardness she had created. The panties she wore gave way with a snap as he whipped it off her body. He immediately sought for her once she was exposed to him, his hand slipping between their writhing bodies. She cried out with a sense of shock as his fingers slid over her, searching through ready wetness and heat. Anders caught that cry against his tongue. Hawke felt the flick of a teasing thumb as a long, seeking finger slowly made its way into her body. Hawke shuddered at the unexpected pleasure of it, at how easily he riled her senses. He slid a second insistent finger into her just as his teeth closed gently around her nipple, right through the fabric of her bra.

"Oh!" she exclaimed breathlessly. Then his eyes were locking with hers, his mouth hovering close to her aching lips.

"In all these years," he said breathlessly, "one of the things I wanted most was to hear my name on your lips." But he didn't request it. He merely stated the desire and decided to let her do with it what she would. "I am so delighted you are ready for me, Hawke ," he murmured against her lips as he made tight little circles around her clitoris with his thumb, making her moan and arch into him. Anders withdrew his touch abruptly, and she cried out something close to a rebuke. He made up for the deprivation when he dragged her against himself, wetting his hard shaft with the slickness of her eager body, and unerringly found the threshold he had wanted to cross for so long now. He had no patience, no care, and no sense of anything except the demanding passion of the fire inside himself. She had lit the fuse, and now she would feel the explosion. Anders thrust into her in one scorching movement, dragging her hips to his with torrid command, and impaling her on himself with barely suppressed violence of need. She was unbelievably hot as she surrounded him. How was it possible that she burned him so fiercely? Her body welcomed him, grasped tightly at him with a voracious sucking of quivering inner muscles. It was heaven and hell, a relief and a torture. He could barely breathe with the onslaught of sensations and emotions the joining of their bodies evoked. Hawke inhaled so hard she thought her lungs would burst. He was inside her at long last. After years and years of waking to the empty feeling of her hollow body, at last she was filled to satisfaction. Her entire body arched with the overwhelming sensation of fullness, her thighs and knees clenching around his hips like an aggressive, sinuous constrictor. His powerful hands held her suspended against him as she absorbed her initial pleasure.

Then her head snapped back up, showering him in white strands of snow as her mouth sought the fit of his and she began to move with a sensual rhythm in his hands and over his body.

"Years…" she repeated on a gasp into his mouth as she moved slowly and tightly over his superheated and hardened body.

Again, it was all understood. But as hot and erotic as taking her like this was, he felt deprived without his hands free. He reached to hook her thigh higher over his hip, making her breath catch as it opened her deeper to him. It also freed up one of his hands, allowing his hungry fingertips to run up her thigh, her hip, and on to her belly and breast through the tight fabric of her bra. He peeled back the fabric, rather like opening a gift, until her breast was exposed, its very dark nipple pulled into a tight point of excitement. Anders cradled her breast in his palm, toying with the rigid nipple with skilled fingers, coaxing her into growing still hotter around him, bathing himself in her sensitive response to his touch. All the while, her agile body curved and wriggled against him.

Anders could bear no more. He had needed her for far too long and his body pounded with primitive male urges. He grabbed hold of her, turning and stepping with her until he was near his goal. Hawke felt her backside skimming over a solid surface, though it was covered in fabric of some kind. She realized that he had set her on a huge table she had seen him working at earlier.

It only took her a moment to understand why.

He stripped her of her bra in one quick motion, completely lacking in gentleness as he did so. Hawke didn't even notice to care. He was laying her back along the table, allowing him to stand sturdy between her thighs. His hands went to her hips, gripping her tightly as he sank himself deep inside her in that ancient surging need of all dominant males. He repeated the thrust, shunting himself deeper and deeper, as if he wasn't yet satisfied with his depth within her. Hawke could do little more than grasp his hands where they clutched at her hips. She looked up into his watchful, smoky amber eyes as he looked for her every response, sought every movement that gave her pleasure. Even though he was half wild, even bordering on abusive as he stroked violently into her accepting body, he was looking for her gratification. Hawke allowed his taxing of her body because it was pure ecstasy to do so. She arched, cried out, and felt stark waves of raw rapture begin to envelop and overwhelm her. Before she could even acknowledge its approach, she flew into a thrashing orgasm, her entire being locked up so tight, inside and out, it was incomprehensible. Anders said something low and vicious under his breath in his native tongue. He had to stop as she cried out and seized with her climax. She was clutching at him so tightly, bathing him in hot, melted sugar, and he refused to be taken by her. When she finally released, gasping for breath and trying to open her dazed eyes, he began again to move within her. Hawke was so highly sensitized that she thought she would fly apart as he took that first long stroke deep into her already pulsing body. She felt instantly tight, ready, and needing.

"Hang on, Hawke," he warned her with wicked masculine confidence.

She couldn't begrudge him his arrogance in this situation. He was leaning over her, his body like magic as it plunged slow and deep this time. His mouth skimmed up over her ribs and sought the thrust of her nipple. He sucked her deeply into his mouth and it sent rivers of fire rushing down her body. She made a small sound, half anticipation, half fear, and he looked up to see her widening eyes. He felt the tension coming, felt her begin to tremble.

He felt her resist.

He pulled her up against his chest, bringing her ear to his mouth so he could whisper softly to her as he began to pick up the pace with which he pitched into her body.

"Do not be afraid," he said, his smoky voice swirling around her like a sensual fog. "Just let go." She shook her head. Maybe it was less about fear and more about disbelief. It was almost painful, the tension he was sending like a coil through her body. How could he do this? Only through the dreams could he know how to touch her this deeply. No stranger could do this. No one could. Never.

"Hawke," he whispered, his voice taunting sorcery. "I will help you if I must."

Hawke gasped, her heart pounding as she tried to figure out what more he could possibly do to her. He let her fall back onto the table gently, seizing her hip again, sliding relentlessly into her taut body. Then Anders reached to where their bodies joined, slid a sure thumb through wet, black curls, and touched her. Hawke squealed. She couldn't help it. It was the only sound that could escape her as her body tension ratcheted up to the tenth power and beyond. Colors swirled around her vision; tears actually burned their way onto her lashes. Then she detonated. Anders absorbed her power with bracing agony and unrelenting hunger. She screamed out, and he devoured the sound with greed and pleasure. She was beautiful, hot, responsive as all hell, and she was his. Her body licked at his like a live flame and he was definitely burned.

_Wait. Wait._

It was a brutal, demanding whisper in his mind, forcing him to hold back even though she threatened his very sanity with her voracious body and capacity for pleasure. So he held on while she whirled away and back again. He wouldn't allow her breath this time. He had need. He hungered. Like fire and flame, he would be relentless. And nothing would stop him now. It came over him savagely, the appetite of a building fire. He gave her no quarter, driving into her before she had fully returned from her last peak. Two wrenching strokes and she was rippling with orgasm again. She took his need and his hunger with equal appetite. Hard as he took her, as brutal as his ability to give her pleasure was, he couldn't exhaust her. She slid now with every thrust into her body as the cloth on the table alleviated friction, allowing him to manipulate her until she thought she would pass out from the pleasure. The more he made her come, the more she cried out, the more relentless his pace. His touch was everywhere, toying with her, teasing, and setting her off until she was blinded to anything but ecstasy. Just when she reached that point of her personal threshold, she heard him make a low, predatory noise, saw the intensity of the storm in his eyes, felt the increasing thickness and heat deep within her until she thought she was on fire. Anders suddenly grabbed her shoulders, dragging her against his chest and seeking for her mouth with his. She felt the slickness of his sweat-drenched body all over her as his surges into her body became frantic. She fell completely apart, her body jerking with spasms of pleasure that seemed to grip deeper into her with every invasion. She was almost completely senseless by the time he surged hard into her for the last time, succumbing to an explosion of release that poured liquid fire into her again and again. He vocalized, a raw, masculine growl of intense satisfaction, and his hands clenched around her neck and thigh as he shuddered violently from the aftermath.

It was, by far, the wildest and most satisfying sexual experience of Hawke's life. She understood that even before she could breathe again. Every muscle in her body was abused by the tension of pleasure caught and released. Anders had done the impossible. He had made her feel the intangible. Hawke couldn't understand it, and part of her didn't want to try. Anders hadn't even stepped away from her, hadn't even released her in any way, and he could already feel the buzzing of her thoughts just outside of his awareness. He could easily imagine what someone of her personality would be thinking in a moment like this. Especially because she didn't yet understand that there was no such thing as casual sex between them, and there never would be. But he could let her be with her thoughts easily in that moment. The fact that he could sense the jumbled bustling of them was the first sign that the Imprinting was begun in earnest. That the mark he had left on her years ago was now working. As he looked up at the wall and the table and the disarray of clothing around them, he could see the scorching and burns that had come with his increasing lack of focus on things other than Hawke. Handprints in stone. Burns on the table. Toasted doilies and scorched clothing. Luckily, he had pulled her close to protect her at those last moments, because a glance up at the ceiling revealed the remnants of his total loss of control, a blackened, billowing pattern, as if flame had been thrown up above them in a roiling cloud. He would have to heal her, or she was really going to feel the damage he had done to her body. She was red everywhere he had touched her, though none of it more serious than a sunburn. Still, it would make her uncomfortable. Over time it would no longer matter; she was designed to dampen power surges like those. Soon, he would never burn anything by accident ever again.

At least, not when he was with her.


End file.
